thistles and weeds
by Etspera
Summary: "It's not the pain in his leg that hurts the most." Belle/Rumpelstiltskin


**How do I start? The last episode of OUAT was wonderful. It was a heartbreaking tragedy, with amazing scenes and perfect acting. Robert Carlyle and Emilie de Ravin = Awesomeness incarnate. So I decided to write my feelings about the Rumpelstiltskin-Belle situation. I cannot wait for the continuation of their story. Please leave a comment or a thought in the end. I really hope you will like it!**

**V. after the storm**

It's a sunny Monday afternoon when he sees her.

She is serving coffee at a local restaurant, and Mr. Gold'eyes are only drawn to the shining windows by chance. Later, he muses whether it was magical destiny that made him look up, but these thoughts only make him laugh viciously. _He_ is the one who spins and weaves the fate of others, thank you very much.

But right now, he stares at the glass, or rather, looks through it, where a young woman smiles at a customer, eyes young and soul naive.

His first thought is: _thankyouthankyouthankyou,_ to whomever, whatever brought her here, this near, this close to him. Gratitude flows into his ancient veins: she is alive and well and whole and oh gods, she is smiling so brightly that it might burn his ever-tired, bitter heart out.

This heart though, is not supposed to recognize this valiant girlchild with bright blue eyes, and he contemplates on whether to run in the café or out of this magically damned world.

Then she looks up from the tables, right into his eyes ("_long-lost acquaintances, almost_ _lovers" _chants a voice in their head) and he feels himself shaking to the core.

Raw love pours from her eyes, washing away his blood-stained history, pulling him in.

She holds up a teacup, and smiles.

**IV. i was a heavy heart to carry**

It's not the pain in his leg that hurts the most.

Nobody, except Regina can see that, but not even she can understand it.

It's the memories of her night and day, awake and sleeping, reeling and peeling off the thick skin from his well-guarded mind. It's her voice and smiles and blue dress and the "_Why won't you believe me_?", and the guilt. Especially the guilt.

It's the visions of _what if'_s and _could have_'s that eat his brain and tears his sanity away. The promises of "true love" had never occured to him until she pointed it out, defiantly and with a raised chin. Never, during all those centuries and eons have anyone dared to put love and him in the same sentence. Gods, not even in the same conversation.

But now that he already tasted the closeness, the possibility of affection and experienced adoration and devotion, he became an addict. And she was his addiction.

Until his words, like poison spoiled everything and she became a prophetess and Nemesis incarnated.

It's not the pain in his legs that hurts the most.

It's the pain of seeing a chipped teacup.

And the pain in his empty, empty heart.

**III. we love until we bleed**

Miss French is declared insane.

"Poor thing" the doctor looks at her with pity in his eyes. "Probably schizophrenia, but might as well be some kind of stress-coping mechanism."

She laughs at that.

It sounds very, very hollow and very, very brave.

Because Belle has always been brave and no one decided about her fate, but her alone. Not the king (papa), not the prince (Gaston), and certainly not the creature whose name was unknown and forbidden (her beloved).

Although Miss French feels pretty resigned and pretty much defeated, the dreams of Belle, the beauty of a fairytale are vivid and rebellious. She dreams of red roses and dusty bookshelves, of sunlight and a nailed curtain, of a blood-red mouth whispering about masters and lovers, but most of all –almost every night- she dreams of dark eyes and long fingers and a kiss that redempted and destroyed everything.

Miss French knows that these dreams are the illusions of her mind, and she is sick (must be sick, otherwise she wouldn't weep at the sight of a teacup or wouldn't wake up in the middle of the night whispering a really long name she seems to forget when the sun rises).

The same blood-red lipstick appears now and then, smiling as maliciously as ever. Miss French has a feeling then. A livid, fiery anger withing her rises, but all she does (she can do) is stare at her behind the curtain of her messy hair.

Then a day a girl comes. Her eyes are curious and she used to be a legend and a myth.

"My name is Emma," she says. "I am here to get you out."

**II. my heart was flawed**

It is day thirty-two, almost noon, when Belle realizes she is in love.

She is in the middle of sweeping the marble floor of the main entrance and she is humming a lullaby she heard as a child. It's a wonderful day, it's a peaceful day, it's a magical day and yet something is not quite right.

"Are you done yet?" says a sing-song voice and she turns to find Rumplestiltskin behind her, grinning. His teeth are sharp and they all face different directions. It's a sweet sight.

"Not quite. Are you hungry?"

"Who said anything about hunger?"

"I do," she declared matter-of-factly. "I am starving."

She chuckles at his bewildered face, until he caughts himself and rearranges his face.

"Right. Then, I suppose, catching stardust from the sunlight must wait until we finish our meal."

He is tempting her, she knows that, but that doesn't stop her from being extremely self-confident.

"I think it must."

"Yes."

"Indeed."

"Exactly."

Their laughter explodes at the same time. Afterwards they do hunt for stardust, only to get it all on her hair. She revenges it by putting a handful of salt in his meal.

He makes the funniest of faces, but his smile is the most genuine one.

She looks at him and warmth gushes in her head, in her heart and she knows it is love.

**I. thistle and weeds**

The first time he sees her, he thinks: She really_ is_ beautiful. He cannot imagine touching her at all, yet he is eager to. She is all he isn't: Light, soft, open, honest, trusting and caring and very very brave.

The first time she sees him, she thinks: What a _strange_ man with _strange_ eyes. He builds so many walls and wears so many masks. Can't anybody see how alone he is?

"Wait!" she cries out.

And he does.

**End**


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